


Keeper

by CityMouse418



Category: The Dukes of Hazzard (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:31:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5836246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CityMouse418/pseuds/CityMouse418
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, a day out on the lake can earn you a prize catch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in a slightly AU setting, where the 1967 Supreme Court decision of Loving vs. Virginia legitimized all forms of relationships, not just interracial, heterosexual ones. I've tried to stay true to the spirit of the late 1970's & early 1980's (with help from re-watching Season 1-3 of the show), but I was only 5 at the time, so please bear with me. There will be angst and self-esteem issues ahead, so keep that in mind. And, as in real life, people are not always what they seem and everyone is more complex than they appear. 
> 
> This story is posted in honor of the 37th anniversary of the debut of The Dukes of Hazzard series. Happy anniversary, y'all!
> 
> Please enjoy and feel free to leave comments. Thank you!

Neither man could exactly pin down the moment it happened; when a routine tow out of Newton Lake had turned into "just one beer", take-out lunches from the Busy Bee Cafe and now into new rubber bait worms, heirloom fishing poles and sausage biscuits packed up for a pre-dawn trip out to Lake Chickamahoney. Cooter risked a glance over at Rosco, who was still looking a bit uncomfortable in his tan plaid button down shirt and moss-green corduroy jacket.

"What?" Rosco questioned softly, barely turning his eyes from the passenger window. He tried to pretend he had been watching the passing scenery, but in the misty gloom, there wasn't a whole lot to see.

"Just checking if you were still awake," Cooter replied, lips twitching into a tiny smile. It had taken him nearly 3 months to set up this little trip out to the lake. Between needing to cover the garage for the weekend and getting Boss to let Rosco off his leash for the same amount of time, it was like trying to run a cat-herding contest. Add to that, Rosco's sudden shyness about the whole thing and Cooter could hardly believe it was happening, at all. 

*

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea, after all," Rosco had said, last Tuesday, as he faced Cooter under the raised hood of Mr. Landry's yellow Dodge Dart. Cooter rolled his eyes toward the sheriff and drew a slow breath before responding.

"It's up to you, but can I remind you that the whole thing was your idea in the first place? You even offered to let Boss keep your last 50-percent-of-50-percent as "rental fee" for that gussied up tool shed he calls a fishing cabin." Cooter let that sink in as he tightened the last spark plug and looked over all the other connections to make sure they were secure. Backing out from under the hood, he reached for the thin metal rod at the corner of the frame and waited for Rosco to pull his own head out. 

"I know that!" Rosco replied, a little too loudly. He ducked his head a bit and turned toward the open bay doors of the garage, making sure he hadn't drawn too much attention. "I know," he repeated quietly, suddenly very interested in the pattern of grease marks on the battered concrete floor. 

"Friends go fishin' all the time," Cooter offered, silently willing Rosco to raise his head and look at him. When he did, Cooter met his eyes and held firm. "It's no big deal." Rosco didn't reply, but Cooter realized he'd won the battle as the sheriff pursed his lips and nodded stiffly. He watched Rosco push himself away from the car and look toward the County Building.

"I'll have that door back on by 3:00 or so and you can pick it up right before you're done for the day," the mechanic said, bringing the conversation back to a more comfortable place. 

"I appreciate that," Rosco replied, out of habit. He smiled slightly as he took a hesitant step toward the exit. Seeing that Cooter caught the double meaning of his gratitude, he settled his signature black hat onto his head and made for the door. Before he'd even finished crossing the street, he had decided to send Enos over to pick up his patrol car.

*

The days had marched on and too soon, it was Friday evening. On the dot of 6 PM, Cooter slid the thin red drawer of his stand-up toolbox shut, pushed the whole set-up back into its customary spot along the wall and glanced across the street, noting the lone patrol car still sitting in front of the cement steps of the courthouse. No sheriff in sight, though, which presented a bit of a mystery. Cooter secured the large bay door and locked the adjacent man-door before heading in the direction of the county vehicle. As he reached the sidewalk, he spied a tell-tale bit of blue near the base of one of the tall side porch columns.

"Who you duckin'? Boss or a bill collector?" Cooter joked as he loped up onto the wide flagstone steps.

"Jit!" Rosco jumped to his feet and dropped the novel he'd been reading. He scanned the immediate area for passersby before looking sternly at the offending party. "Don't sneak up on a person like 'at! You'll give somebody a vapor lock!" He took a deep breath and noticed that Cooter had picked up the fallen book and was holding it toward him. He took it back after a moment, making sure he touched *just* the book. He cleared his throat a tiny bit before asking, "We still on for tomorrow?"

"I wondered why you were still here, with Boss gone home over an hour ago," Cooter said, chuckling. "Yeah, we're still on. What time you wanna leave?"

"This time of year, I usually aim to get to the cabin right about 7:00 or so. The sun comes up real pretty over the water and I try to be there to see it. There's this part of the hill that has this one tree that … ," Rosco answered, excitedly. He realized he was over-sharing already and snapped his mouth shut with a click. "6:00 should be good enough," he said, more seriously, and quickly exited, stage left. 

The next morning found Cooter sitting in the cool darkness of Rosco's front yard, watching a dim light travel from room to room through the small bungalow. It started in the front, right-hand corner window, disappeared completely for a few minutes, returned to the original window, then drifted down to the lower floor windows and finally onto the small porch on the side of the house. A shadowy form turned toward the door for a second, then stopped to gather a paper sack, fishing pole and bucket and two one-gallon 'shine jugs. The little paper tags hanging from the corked tops immediately betrayed the contents: Miss Evelyn's lemon sun-tea. 

Rosco made his way down the gravel path to Cooter's car, trying to keep the glass jugs from banging together. He nodded a silent greeting as Cooter hopped out to open the car's trunk. The two men got the items settled and Cooter got back behind the wheel. Rosco gestured for Cooter to wait and slipped into the little shed near the corner of the house. Reaching up onto an upper shelf, he took down a well-worn paint can and tucked it close to his body, inside his jacket. Once inside the car, he placed the small paint can between his knees and buckled himself into the passenger seat. Finding nothing else to distract himself with, Rosco finally said a quiet "good morning" to his weekend fishing buddy.


	2. Chapter 2

Gray streaks were starting to gather along the treetops as Cooter eased the car into the small dirt square on the side of the lakeside cottage. Fog lay thick on the surface of the water in front of them, shielding the just-waking ducks and geese from view. He could hear a few soft quacks and a bit of wet paddling, but that was the only evidence of animal life at the lake, this morning. On the passenger side of the car, Rosco got out and stretched, took a deep breath and looked toward the lake.

"If the fog stays this heavy, I don't think we'll get a good sunrise this morning," Rosco lamented. "If that's the case, I'm sorry I got you up here so early." He glanced at Cooter to see if he was annoyed, but found a relaxed expression on his friend's face. 

"I'm not worried about that. I just wanna see if we can get that 20-pounder Bo says he found over by that sunken tree, yonder." Cooter popped the trunk and started lining the gear up along the little wooden porch. With the poles, bait boxes and catch-pail sorted, he lifted the paper sack and iced tea jugs out. "What all's in here?" he asked. "We're only staying the one night, ya know." He tossed a smile over his shoulder to make sure Rosco knew he was just kidding. 

"I didn't have much of a say in what got packed, 'cept for the biscuits. Mama had that all together by the time I got home last night. She set that tea out to brew, too. We can just dump what we don't drink."

"Rosco P. Coltrane! You bite your tongue! Dumping out your Mama's tea'd be like cussing in church. We wouldn't even get back to town before people'd know what an awful thing we did!" Cooter's shocked voice carried across the quiet, open area. He opened the top of the grocery bag and spotted a half-dozen wax paper-wrapped sandwiches, all carefully marked as to what they were, and a home-baked marble pound cake in throw-away tin pan. Smiling at the thought of not really *needing* to catch anything for dinner and supper, Cooter handed the bag to Rosco, saying, "We'll have to leave these inside the house, but I wouldn't argue with a couple of those biscuits before we get started." 

*

Rosco felt almost relaxed by noon. Both he and Cooter had done more than enough fishing to know to keep quiet while they were out on the lake. That saved him a lot of worry in searching for something to say and probably just messing it up, anyhow. An easy give and take began as the fish began to take notice of the brightly colored rubber worms being offered. When one man's line started to twitch, the other would shimmy close with the net and scoop up the catch. A few small ones got tossed back, but the pair were able to gather up a nice amount for a 2-person fish fry. 

Looking down into the catch-pail, Rosco knew they'd have to head in soon. Cooter noticed the same thing and clapped Rosco on the knee. 

"Looks like we got a real good batch. Want to call it a morning?" Cooter reached for the crossed oars and pulled them up into a useable position. He waited for Rosco to glance into the bucket and agree with him, then pointed the bow of the rowboat back toward the shore. 

"You want to cook these inside on the stove or outside on the fire?" Rosco asked. While Cooter cleaned the fish, he had gathered a nice amount of firewood and arranged it in the brick fire-pit behind the cottage. He prayed Cooter would say "outside" because, somehow, he felt both of them being inside that little kitchen together, doing something as domestic as cooking might just be the death of him. 

"We can't let Boss's fancy cook-pots go to waste, now," Cooter winked. "I bet he's got some real nice fry seasonings, too." He finished scraping all the trash-bits back into metal bucket and carefully laid the fresh, white filets onto a clean plate. "You want to take these in, while I chuck this stuff back in the water?"

By the time Cooter had washed up at the outside pump and headed into the kitchen, Rosco had nearly all the filets seasoned and ready for the frying pan. He had split the catch in half and had used different seasonings for each batch. One plate held filets covered in a dark reddish, fine powder and the other looked plainer, with just a little ground pepper dusted over them. A good sized pot bubbled away happily on a second burner and a large pile of yellow squash pieces, green pepper strips and baby carrots lay in a bowl, ready for steaming. 

"Which ones do you want me to cook first? This one's gonna be hotter because it's got chili-spice on it," he explained, pointing a long fork at the plate of red-colored filets. 

Cooter tried to cover his surprise at seeing the sheriff look so comfortable, working with all the varied spice jars lined up on the counter. "It's up to you. You look like you know what you're doing in here, a heck of a lot better than I do, so you make the call." He pulled over one of the tall padded bar-chairs and slid behind the opposite side of the counter. "You mind if I watch? I don't want to make you nervous or nothin'."

Rosco shook his head, saying, "No, it won't make me too nervous, I don't think." His voice was steady enough, saying the words, but he was very glad that his hands were busy, checking the temperature of the oil in the pan. Once the fish was in the pan, he'd have tending the vegetables as an excuse. After that, Heaven help him.

*

"So, how'd you learn all this, anyhow?" Cooter asked between bites of lunch. He'd expected a good-ol'-boy campfire cook out and what he was enjoying right now would make the grade in any of those "wear a tie" restaurants over in Cedar City. 

Rosco took a drink of his tea before answering. "Night school." He wasn't really sure he wanted to elaborate, but his mouth kept spilling words out before he could stop them. "Mama gets this flier, once in a while, and they have these night classes over at the high school in Finchburg." He looked across the counter to see if Cooter was ignoring him yet and found the other man was looking right back at him. 

"And, uhhh … Mama really likes learning all these different things, but she doesn't usually have anybody to take her over there 'cause it's always after dark and none of her friends can see well enough anymore to drive at night, so … If she sees something she wants to do … I go with her." Rosco got everything out in one breath, but his voice had dropped down to almost a whisper, by the time he finished speaking. He ran his fingertips around the lower edge of his plate and waited for the taunts to start.

"Miss Evelyn's a very lucky Mama." Cooter reached forward and intercepted Rosco's hand, halting his anxious tracing of the plate. He slid the empty plate toward himself, piled his own on top and headed to the sink. "You stay still and I'll get these dishes done. Hey, you think this 'lectric coffee pot works? Can't cut that cake without having a cup of coffee to go with it."

Over the rest of the afternoon, Cooter found out that Rosco had learned a few different styles of cooking, beginner electronics repair, oil painting, and even a little karate from those Finchburg night classes. 

"I don’t really know a lot of karate. That one was just a little 3-week thing; basic self defense for senior ladies and I was usually the other tackling dummy for the women, seeing as I was the only other man there, besides the teacher. But I learned how to get somebody off my back and throw them away from me far enough to get my gun out and freeze 'em with it." Rosco explained, as if that would lessen the shock of him knowing so many varied subjects. 

"I think that's real good, Rosco. You should be proud, knowing all that. I know I sure would be." Cooter tried to sound as sincere as possible, knowing the sheriff was waiting for the other shoe to drop and the teasing to begin. The two had relocated to the small living room and had settled into the over-stuffed pastel flowered chairs that Lulu had ordered, special - all the way from some fancy store in Richmond. 

The rest of the afternoon passed surprisingly quick, as Rosco related funny stories about fellow classmates and instructors and answered what felt like a million questions about his newly revealed skills. For his part, Cooter added a few tales of the antics that he and Cletus got into, in their youth. By the time Cooter and Cletus were driving age, Rosco was just coming out of the Army and starting at the Police Academy, so he was a little removed from the small-town acting up that the younger local boys got into. Before he knew it, it was getting on supper time and he found himself working alongside Cooter, teaching him how to sauté that second batch of fish filets he had made up.


	3. Chapter 3

"Coffee always tastes better outside."

Knowing there was a little more than just plain black coffee in that cup, Rosco sent Cooter a sideways smirk and rolled his eyes back toward the small crackling fire in front of them. "So that's why you and the boys always make such a show of your Saturday morning breakfasts?" He couldn't really remember a weekend that didn't start with hearing overly-loud laughter and good-natured shouting coming from the broad entryway of the Hazzard Garage. As soon as the Duke cousins had gotten themselves that blasted orange car, they seemed to be everywhere at once and always in his way. Even out here, cross-legged on the ground in front of a perfect campfire - there they were again, cropping up, un-asked-for. 

"Nah," the mechanic countered. "That's just flirtin'." He took another sip from the cooling cup and leaned up onto his knees to fetch the blue and white speckled coffee pot from the hot ashes. He warmed his own cup and topped off the sheriff's, while he was at it. "So? You ever gonna tell me?" Cooter asked, fixing Rosco with a hard look.

"Tell you what?" Rosco replied, testily. His thoughts were stuck on Cooter's previous comment and he was scanning through his recent memory to try and figure out exactly which of the cousins he was sweet on. 

"Why we're drinking whiskey out of a paint can."

"Oh, that." Rosco's mood instantly changed as he giggled, recalling the disgusted look Cooter gave him, as he poured a little amber liquid out of the vintage paint can into his own hot coffee. He had outright laughed at the loud denial when he offered the dented can to the other man. "Mama won't abide hard liquor in the house, so this is my best option." 

"Why don't you just keep it hid up in your room, somewhere?" Cooter asked, carefully. He didn't want to sound insulting, but the idea of a man nearly forty-five years old needing to hide alcohol in his own home was a bit odd.

Rosco looked down into his half-full cup and pressed his lips together tightly. "That's where she found the first bottle!" He took a long drink and paused a moment, still not looking up. "She poured it right down the sink and yelled, durn-near all evening; wantin' to know what other vices I was hiding!" Rosco was glad for the darkness crowding closer to their little campfire. His face burned and he knew he'd never be able to live down blushing so much, if Cooter had been able to see him clearly.

Cooter heard the sheriff's voice tighten at the embarrassing memory and felt a jolt of shame at what he'd forced the man to confess. He scooted a little closer and nudged the soft corduroy shoulder next to his. Rosco really had a lot of responsibility on his back and very few people appreciated that. He somehow managed to take care of himself and his mother, maintain their home, make sure his spinster-sister over in Loomis had the things she needed, distract Boss away from any *real* trouble and get enough actual police work done to keep the county safe. All on a paycheck tight enough to starve a church mouse. 

"You're alright, Rosco. You know that?" Cooter took a deep breath and ducked his head to peek sideways at the other man. "I'm proud to know you." 

The sheriff turned slightly away from the mechanic and snorted. He checked his coffee cup for one last swallow, cursing softly when he saw it was already empty. He took a steadying breath before muttering something that Cooter couldn't quite hear. 

"Ok, well … Now it's your turn to tell me something."

Cooter put out his hand in a gesture of "go ahead" and waited. 

"When I was talking about your Saturday breakfasts with the boys, you … Uhh …" Rosco stuttered to a stop, took a quick breath and soldiered on. "You said that was just flirting. So, which one is it?" 

Cooter thought he knew where Rosco was headed with his question, but wanted to be absolutely sure. "Are you asking which one I'm flirtin' with, between Bo and Luke?" He watched Rosco's reaction closely and saw his head drop and his eyes close tightly, giving himself a bit of protection against the inevitable answer. Cooter leaned a fraction of an inch closer and replied quietly, "Neither." He let that answer stew a moment before continuing. "Didn't you ever wonder why I run you off the road that day and stole your patrol car?" He backed up to avoid getting clunked in the forehead as Rosco sat bolt upright and sobered up immediately. 

"You did that just to get my goat! I know exactly why you did it!" Rosco snapped. 

"Just flirtin' …" Cooter said, slowly. He kept steady eye contact with the sheriff and let himself smile softly as he watched the anger fade from the other man's face. 

"Cooter, please …" The deep sadness contained in those two words was unmistakable. 

"There's not too many of us confirmed old bachelors running around Hazzard, is there?" Cooter chuckled and raised his eyebrows the tiniest bit, hoping Rosco would catch on.

"No, there ain't," Rosco replied, carefully. He concentrated on holding Cooter's gaze and realized the color of his eyes were very close to the green he'd picked for the willow trees in one of his newer landscape paintings. He wondered why he hadn't noticed that before, as he struggled to keep his breathing normal. He almost lost that battle when he felt Cooter lean closer and slide a warm hand over his own. 

"I ain't gonna push you, so don't you worry about that. I just wanted to make sure you knew where I was coming from and know that I'm willing to wait, until you let me know what you decide." 

The speech sounded so much like something that dipstick Enos would say to Daisy that Rosco had to catch himself from laughing at the thought. He nodded slowly and flipped his left hand over to grip Cooter's fingertips. 

"It's been over ten years since somebody's even offered to be interested, so I hope you won't mind if it takes me a while to think about this." Rosco admitted. "Ain't it funny … when the thing you almost hoped for scares you to death?" 

Cooter gently squeezed Rosco's hand and nodded. "Somethin' like that. Well, I think I'm pretty much done in." He got to his feet and started putting out the campfire and dampening the ashes. Behind him, he heard Rosco standing and brushing off his jeans. "You gonna be alright on that fold-out?" He called over his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah. It's pretty good. Lulu always makes Boss sleep on it when they come out here and he never complains … Much."


	4. Chapter 4

"What time do you want to be back, today?" Rosco asked, as he helped push the rowboat out onto the lake. At breakfast, they had debated about going back out for one more round of fishing and decided that, since neither man was exactly a steady church-goer, it wouldn't hurt to do a little "catch & release" before heading home. 

 

"No particular time," Cooter replied. He could see by Rosco's slower pace at breakfast, this morning, that he hadn't slept very well either. Neither one had brought up their little campfire talk from the night before. Once both men were settled safely on their own sides of the craft, Cooter spoke. 

 

"Hey, look. I'm sorry if I over-stepped the line, last night. It's just … I was hoping you'd notice before this and I wouldn't have to come out and say it, like I did." He quickly glanced up from fastening the bright blue flatworm onto his hook and tried to gauge Rosco's mood. The other man hardly moved, seated in the center of the other wooden bench, and didn't even seem to have heard him. Cooter waited until Rosco hooked his own bait and then tried again. "You heard me, right?"

 

Rosco tossed his line over the side of the boat. He watched the lead sinker take the hook underwater and the bobber bounce happily along the surface, while he planned his reply. He slid the handle of the fishing rod into the metal holder bolted onto the inside edge of the boat before looking in Cooter's direction.

 

"I'm not exactly sure you've thought about what'll happen if you get what you're asking for," Rosco said quietly. He held up one hand to stop Cooter from protesting, just yet. "You been close as brothers with those boys for almost their whole life. You think they're gonna stand for you goin' with me?" He knew he didn't even have to clarify who he had in mind. "And Boss. You think you'll be kept out of his monkey business, once he knows he can get to me by hassling you?" Rosco reached over, steadied the swaying fishing line and continued. "Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't trade the time we had, these past couple months, not for anything in the world. I just might not be the best choice for you, is all." Rosco looked past Cooter, into the bright rising sun, forcing his eyes to water a bit and cover for the tears that had started to form. "I'm not that decent of a man, anymore." 

 

Cooter shook his head and moved from the tiny triangle bow-seat to the full bench seat directly in front of Rosco. When he saw the slight wetness on his friend's cheek, his heart broke. 

 

"You don't let innocent people get hurt, if you can help it. You put yourself in the way of some of those clowns Boss brings in and make them chase after you, instead of letting them hang around town, causing more trouble. Don't say nothin'! I've seen you do it!" Cooter's agitated voice sounded too loud in the morning stillness. He saw Rosco still looking slightly over his shoulder toward the sunrise and shifted sideways, drawing Rosco's full attention. "I'm willing to put up with whatever Boss wants to throw at me. And don't you worry about the boys. I'll make sure they don't give you too hard of a time when we're all together." Cooter calmly reached one hand forward and lightly brushed the back of his knuckles against Rosco's cheek. "What d'ya say? Wanna see if this works?"

 

Rosco rolled his eyes skyward and drew a shaky breath. "Okay." 

 

That one word could have been the longest, most romantic speech in the world, as far as Cooter was concerned. With a happy shout, he closed the small distance between them, planting a quick kiss on the shocked lawman. The sudden movement jolted the rowboat, causing both men to grab for the sides and steady it. 

 

Cooter laughed and apologized, "Sorry 'bout that," He smiled broadly, as he continued, "We can just pretend that didn't happen and then we can have our first kiss, all over again, sometime." 

 

Rosco recovered from the sudden jump in their intimacy level and grunted. "You tip us outta this boat and we're gonna have our first fight, too." After getting over his initial embarrassment, the idea of being over that fairly significant personal hurdle was comforting. 

 

"You wanna go back on land, where we can talk without falling in the lake?"

 

"Yeah," Rosco replied, remembering something that made him go a bit pale. "We need to figure out how we're gonna tell Mama."


End file.
